Page 13 of Fragile Hearts

“The speakers are in the ceiling. Kinda cool, huh?”

“The whole house is amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever showered in a bathroom quite like the one here. It’s like I’m at a spa, not that I’ve ever been, but…” I shrug, laughing a little.

As I dump the flour into the bowl, it leaves a cloud of dust, and I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to clear it. Owen dumps in the water we measured out, the dust settling as I begin to mix it.

He’s watching me, his gaze moving from where my hands are mixing the dough and then back to my face. He smiles, reaching over, his fingers dance along my cheek.

“You have some flour,” he starts, his thumb pressing more firmly now, “right here.”

I gasp at his touch, his thumb lingering, gently moving to the corner of my mouth, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. He traces the outline of my lips, and I feel my entire body ignite, my thighs tightening of their own accord.

I wish I didn’t know what he looks like shirtless or the way his hips cut to the sexiest V, leading to a dick I’m growing more and more interested in. Hating that I can picture every muscle of his arms flexing when he paddles out on his surfboard or the way his ass looks in a pair of boardshorts.

Fuck my life.

“Um…” I say, swallowing hard, wanting to reach out and touch him, to slide my hands under his shirt and explore every inch of lean muscle.

“There’s a pizza oven outside,” Owen suddenly says, his words loud even over the sound of the music playing. He might as well have screamed them because that’s the way it feels, cutting off any dirty thoughts I might be having about him.

And that’s for the best.

“Okay, cool,” I mutter, returning to the bowl, my hands covered in flour and dough.

Trying to lighten the tension in the room, my thighs still squeezed together, my brain telling me to focus on the dough, I pull my hands out. Flicking my fingers in the air, flour and dough fly off them, hitting Owen right in the face.

“What the hell?” he calls out playfully. “Like it wasn’t enough that you knocked me on my ass, now you gotta throw pizza dough at me? I’m still recovering.” He pushes his bottom lip out in a pout, rubbing the back of his head.

“Come here,” I whisper, smiling at him as I hook a finger. “You got a little something on your face.”

Holy shit, as he steps toward me, I’m met with a smell of coconut and cedar, and it’s a smell that has my body crying out with need.

How the hell can he smell this damn good?

I can feel the warmth of his body in my space, and as much as I want to close my eyes and bask in him, I grab a dish towel from the counter instead.

Taking his chin in my hand, my fingers holding him in place, I wipe away the flour and bits of dough, smiling as I do.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his words low, and we are walking a fine line here, a line that we shouldn’t cross, but I want to, so damn bad.

I need to be responsible here. Now is not the time to make poor choices and ruin the good thing I have going living with Owen.

But it’s going to be damn hard.

God, I want to kiss this woman so damn bad.

There’s a part of me that wants to believe Sloane wants me to kiss her too, especially with the way she’s looking at me right now. But I also know that I have to be very careful with this girl. I’m only going to get one shot at getting this right, and I definitely don’t want to blow it.

“Get it?” I murmur, my eyes locked with hers as she wipes the dish towel on my jaw.

Sloane licks her lips, nodding as she whispers, “Uh huh.”

We’re caught in this weird kind of limbo right now, and I know I should move, that I need to be the one to stop things from going any further, because I don’t think Sloane is quite there yet. Thankfully, my phone chimes out with a text message, stopping me from doing something stupid like kissing her before she’s ready for it.

Sloane drops her hand, and I turn to where my phone lies on the kitchen counter.

* * *

Alana: So not to guilt you into it or anything, but Mochi is really missing Sloane.

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